“What if Lord Saintcrow is lying injured somewhere?” Hermione asked. “I don’t know about you, but I would feel quite bad if I were to learn we were here and might have helped while his lordship was in need of assistance.”
“But the person who injured him could still be here,” Ophelia argued. “Waiting to harm us as well.”
“Where is your concern for your fellow man, Ophelia?” asked Leonora, moving closer to the staircase.
“Oh, I have plenty of concern,” Ophelia answered wryly. “But I have more concern for my skin should Lord Saintcrow find us here bickering in his front entrance hall. He’s not the most understanding of gentlemen by all accounts. And I do not think he would care overmuch that we were worried for his well-being. In fact, it now occurs to me that he might think that Hermione is here to steal her horses back.”
“From inside his house?” Hermione asked ironically. “The man is odd but even he is not so foolish as to keep horses in his guest bedchamber.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ophelia said in a huff.
“Ladies,” Leonora said sharply. “We need to make a decision. I, for one, think we should go upstairs and see if Lord Saintcrow is injured. It is highly unusual for his door to be open as we found it. And if you will listen, the house is as quiet as a tomb.”
“I say we go upstairs,” Hermione said, turning to see what Ophelia’s vote would be.
Ophelia looked from one of her friends to the other before sighing. “Fine. I vote we go upstairs, too. But if I get killed I will haunt you both with every fiber of my undead being.”
Silently the ladies made their way up the stairs and into the upper hall. “Lord Saintcrow,” Hermione called out as they made their way to the first door. “Are you here?”
But the house was silent. So silent that she felt a little chill run through her. A nervous sweat broke out on her brow, and she used the handkerchief she’d clutched in her hand to complete her mourning disguise to delicately dab at it. She steeled herself as she opened the door, but it was merely a storage closet. Her sigh of relief was loud to her own ears.
“I don’t like this one bit,” Ophelia hissed even as she opened the next door and peered inside. “Just an empty parlor.”
“We will only look in this hallway and if he’s not here, we’ll leave,” Hermione assured her friend. “I admit now that I am simply curious to see if there is anything unusual here. So far it has been depressingly conventional. I thought perhaps a gentleman of Lord Saintcrow’s reputation would have a more interesting house than this.”
“He’s hardly going to have a gaming hall hidden away in a corner of his house,” Leonora said with a nervous laugh.
“I know,” Hermione said as she turned the knob of the next door. “But … oh, this is his study.”
To her surprise, there was a lamp burning in this room. “Lord Saintcrow,” she called as she stepped inside. But a quick scan of the room revealed it to be empty.
“He’s not here,” Ophelia said from behind her. “I must confess, however, that I do love a good library. Something about the smell of books.”
“There is another odor in here as well,” Leonora said with a frown from the doorway. “If you don’t mind I’ll just stay out here. My stomach cannot take foul odors at the moment.”
“It’s quite unpleasant,” Hermione agreed, stepping farther into the room. “I wonder he doesn’t do something about—”
She broke off with a little scream as she looked down at the carpet on the far side of the massive desk. “Dear God!” She brought her hand up to cover her gaping mouth.
“What?” Ophelia asked sharply from where she’d been perusing the shelves. “What is it?”
“We have to get out of here,” Hermione said, hurrying forward to tow Ophelia from the room with her, almost knocking down Leonora who was standing just outside the room “Come on!”
Neither of the other ladies argued as they hurried down the stairs and to the floor below.
They’d just reached the ground floor when the creak of the front door made them all look up in alarm.
Her heart beating a sharp tattoo in her breast, Hermione nearly cried out in relief to see that it was Lord Mainwaring.
“Hermione!” he said sharply as he saw her. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“There’s no time to argue just now,” she said, pulling him into the entrance hall and out of sight of the door. “We must leave without being seen. Which means we’ll need to go one at a time.”
“Mrs. Lisle,” Mainwaring said, with a slight bow for Leonora before turning to Ophelia. “Miss Dauntry.”
“I am glad to see you have a chaperone at least,” he said to Hermione, “but what the devil are the three of you doing here? Especially since it would appear there are no servants around.”
But Hermione had no time for his scold. “I don’t give a hang about the proprieties, Mainwaring,” she snapped. “Lord Saintcrow is dead and we have to leave before someone suspects we had something to do with it!”
* * *
When Jasper arrived at Hermione’s house that morning, it was to learn that rather than waiting to hear his proposal as he’d hoped her father would have instructed her to do—which, thinking about it now, was indeed a foolish pipedream on his part—she was instead off somewhere with Leonora and Ophelia. At least that is what Greentree, the Upperton butler, told him.
Thanking the man, he climbed back onto his horse, Hector, and set him in the direction of Lord Saintcrow’s town house.
The conversation he and Hermione had overheard last night between Lord Payne and his fellow Lords of Anarchy had been unusual to say the least. It was clear from what Payne had said that there had been some sort of understanding that Hermione’s two horses were to go to some other buyer. But somehow—perhaps by mistake—they’d been sold to Hermione’s man of business, and before Payne could get them back Lord Upperton had lost them to Saintcrow.
The Home Office had known about a ring of horse thieves. But these weren’t ordinary horses. They were expensive enough to merit the sort of payoff that men like Payne and his ilk would demand before they became embroiled in illegality.
And it was clear from what the men had said last night that Saintcrow wasn’t an innocent bystander in this.
When he got to Saintcrow’s town house, however, it was to find the door ajar. And when he stepped inside, who should he see but Hermione with Ophelia on one side and Leonora on the other.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from her, but the declaration that Lord Saintcrow was dead had certainly not been among the possibilities.
“Are you sure?” he demanded, taking her by the shoulders so that he could look her full in the face. “How do you know?”
But Hermione wasn’t going to be manhandled by anyone. “I am not blind, my lord,” she said, pulling herself from his grip. “He … his…”
For the first time in his acquaintance with her, Lady Hermione Upperton was speechless.
Guessing that her reticence meant that there was some sort of fatal wound that was visible, Jasper nodded, and this time when he touched her shoulder it was to comfort. “You needn’t explain. I get the idea. But why were you here in the first place? I needn’t tell you that visiting a gentleman’s home is highly unusual behavior even if you are accompanied by another young lady and a matron.”
“Do not bother her with details,” Ophelia said fiercely, linking her arm with Hermione’s and glaring at him. Jasper, who had previously found Miss Dauntry to be rather bland, was surprised by the vehemence in her tone. “She had her reasons, and since Leonora and I were with her, there can be no objection. But now we must leave here at once.”
“I have little doubt she had her reasons, Miss Dauntry,” said Jasper with a trace of annoyance. Hermione would always have some reason or other for going her own way. But this time she’d put herself and her friends in danger. “Let me go see Saintcrow for myself and then I will see you three s
afely home.”
For once, Hermione did not argue. She swallowed and gestured for him to go upstairs. “He is in the study. Second door on the left. Behind the desk.”
With a brief glance at her distraught expression, Jasper took the stairs two at a time. He smelled the foul odor of death as soon as he reached the hallway. He hadn’t been to war as his friend the Duke of Trent had, but he’d seen plenty of death in his time working behind the scenes for the Home Office. The sort of things that concerned the government were by their nature dangerous, and faced with the choice between a traitor’s death and death by their own hand many of those who worked against king and country chose the latter.
When he stepped into the library, he saw that just as Hermione had said, the body of Saintcrow was on the floor behind the desk, so that it wasn’t visible when one first entered the room. Kneeling, he saw that the man’s throat had been cut. Not the sort of injury that could be mistaken for a suicide. And there was no sign of a weapon on the floor around him. He would have lifted the body to see if it was perhaps beneath him, but it would not do to muddle the scene overmuch. The authorities would already be alarmed at the fact a peer had been killed in his own home, and any sign that someone else had been here before them would only raise their suspicions further.
A quick glance through the papers on the man’s desk showed that they were a mess as well. Whether that was from Saintcrow’s lack of tidiness, however, or the killer’s search for something was difficult to determine.
He strode around the other side of the desk when a flash of white near the leg of a nearby chair caught his eye. Leaning down to pick it up, he saw that it was a ladies’ handkerchief. Lady Hermione’s if one were to go by the delicately embroidered initials. Sending up a brief prayer of thanks that he’d been the one to find it instead of the authorities, he hurried back down the stairs and found the three ladies waiting where he’d left them.
“Put your veils on and let’s go,” he said without preamble. Wordlessly the three ladies waited for him to scan outside the door to ensure there were no passers-by, and when he gestured for them to follow, they did.
It was the most subdued he’d ever seen Hermione and he wondered what sort of thoughts were going through her head. It was difficult to face death for the first time. He’d lost the contents of his stomach upon seeing his first corpse. And was rather shocked that a lady, even one as hardy as Hermione, had been able to keep hers.
When they reached the street outside, the urchin he’d had watching his horse while he went inside stepped forward, reins in hand.
Tossing a coin the boy’s way, he said, “There’s another half crown for you if you will wait a few more moments while I see these ladies off.”
With a grunt of assent, the boy pocketed the coin and led Hector back down the street.
“I take it that was your carriage at the end of the street, Mrs. Lisle?” he asked, with a nod toward where the coachman waited for them.
At Leonora’s assent, he said, “Walk as if you are merely on a quiet stroll, ladies. You are sisters in mourning and as such are subdued.”
“What will you do?” Hermione asked in a low voice as he followed behind them. “It cannot be known that I was here. He took my horses from me yesterday. The authorities will almost certainly suspect me if they learn I was inside the house.”
“I have no intention of informing them that you were anywhere in the vicinity,” Jasper responded, understanding well why she was worried. “If no one else saw the three mysterious ladies entering Lord Saintcrow’s home, then you will be safe from scrutiny. But it wasn’t wise of you to come here. Even disguised as you were. It will hardly take a great leap of imagination to guess that at least one of the heavily veiled ladies who visited him today was the same lady from whom he wrested her prize coaching pair the day before.”
“If I had known he’d be dead I would not have done so,” Hermione said in a low hiss, turning slightly to glare at him from beneath her veil. At least, he thought she’d be glaring given her tone of voice. “But I can hardly go back in time and undo it.”
He considered pointing out that if she’d behaved with propriety in the first place, there would be no need for her to undo anything, but decided it was not the time.
“No, you cannot. I simply wished to point out that there is a good chance you’ll be suspected of having visited him at least, and murdered him at worst.” When he heard his own words, he winced a little at the harshness of them. But it was nothing more than the truth. And Hermione did have a preference for plain speaking, if nothing else.
“I am well aware of that, my lord,” she bit out. “But the fact remains that I had nothing to do with the man’s death, and Leonora, Ophelia, and I were well within the bounds of propriety by calling upon him together. We might have been a little forward, but hardly beyond the pale.”
By that time they’d reached the end of the street where the Lisle carriage waited.
Not bothering to argue with Hermione, Jasper handed first Leonora, then Ophelia, and finally Hermione into the vehicle. Leaning inside before he shut the door, he said in a low voice, “Remain home until you get word from me. You should both go about your normal business, to keep yourselves from suspicion.”
“What will you do about … his lordship?” Hermione’s voice broke before she said the words, and the reminder of her vulnerability made Jasper wince at his earlier harsh words.
“I’ll get word to the right people,” he said softly. “I know it was frightening, what you saw. But there was nothing you could have done. He was gone before you arrived. Now I suggest the three of you get some rest and try to forget about what you saw.”
“Easier said than done, my lord,” said Hermione with a shake of her head. “But we will try.”
Having to content himself with that, Jasper shut the carriage door and nodded to the coachman that he could depart.
Eight
With assurances to Leonora and Ophelia that she would inform them if she learned anything further about Saintcrow’s death, Hermione closed the door of the rented Upperton town house and hurried upstairs to scrub away the memory of the afternoon’s horror in a steaming bath.
She was staring sightlessly out her bedchamber window toward the back garden when she heard a shout from the direction of the neighboring yard.
The Fleetwoods’ garden.
Mindful of her promise to Mainwaring not to go near her neighbors, she was, however, grateful for the distraction from the events of the morning. So she watched with interest as a lady and a gentleman stood arguing near the gate of the neighboring yard. It was too far away to tell if the gentleman was Mr. Fleetwood, though the build looked right. His hair was obscured by his hat, however, and as she hadn’t ever met Miss Fleetwood there was no way to know if it was her neighbor’s sister she saw now.
She knew they argued because of the vehement gesticulations on the part of the lady, and something about the way the man held himself. It wasn’t a happy conversation—that was certain. And Hermione, wondering if their enmity had something to do with Mainwaring’s warnings against the Fleetwoods, watched fascinated and horrified as the gentleman took the lady by the shoulders and shook her.
And, as she watched, the man in the garden pulled his companion closer and, to Hermione’s surprise, dipped his head and appeared to kiss her.
Yes, she thought, watching wordlessly as the lady’s arms wrapped around the gentleman’s shoulders and seemed to pull him closer, they were most definitely embracing. Either that man wasn’t Mr. Fleetwood or the lady was not his sister.
“Your bath’s ready, my lady.”
Hermione leaped up in alarm at her maid’s voice. Her cheeks reddened at being caught spying on her neighbors. And reluctantly, she turned away from the scene below. “Yes, thank you, Minnie.”
Determined not to look down again, she pulled the curtain closed and hurried into the dressing room where she allowed Minnie to help her undress and sank into the fragran
t hot water.
But once she was alone with her thoughts, it wasn’t the embracing couple next door she remembered, but the face of the deceased Lord Saintcrow. Despite her anger with him yesterday morning, she had not wished the man dead. And certainly not in such a violent manner.
He’d seemed so vital. So alive. It was shocking to think all that vigor had been snuffed out in the space of a day.
Had it been simply a thief who’d killed him? Someone who was caught in the act of robbing his lordship and panicked?
Recalling the gaping wound in Saintcrow’s throat, Hermione doubted it. One didn’t slit someone’s throat out of surprise. Indeed, she thought, turning her mind to the puzzle of it, one would need to get behind the victim to do such a thing. It was possible that the killer had heard Saintcrow coming and hid somewhere, only leaping out once the man’s back was turned to inflict the wound. But somehow she didn’t think it had happened that way.
There hadn’t seemed to be any sign of struggle. Perhaps the killer had been known to his lordship. Had seemed innocuous enough for poor Lord Saintcrow to turn his back on him. And then when he wasn’t looking, the killer had made his move.
Despite the heat of the bath, Hermione shivered. It would take a great deal of anger to make someone want to kill another in such a personal way. She’d been as angry at the man as she had ever been at another human being—with the exception of her father, of course—and yet, she’d never considered doing such a thing. Stealing her grays back, yes. Murder? Absolutely not.
Recalling her grays, she sat up in the tub. What would happen to them now that Lord Saintcrow was dead?
Not waiting for Minnie to return to help her out, she stood and wrapped herself in the toweling the maid had left beside the tub. On bare feet, she padded across the thick carpets into her bedchamber and the small writing desk there.
When her note was finished she rang for Minnie, asking her to give the note to a footman and have him deliver it posthaste.
Mindful that she shouldn’t let on that she knew what had happened to Saintcrow lest for some reason the note were intercepted, she’d only requested that Lord Mainwaring do what he could about her poor horses. He had already done so much for her—unbidden, but even so—that she felt slightly guilty asking for one more favor. But she rather supposed he’d prefer that she follow his orders to stay home instead of going to see about the horses on her own.
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